Ignorance is Safety —Jennifer Ruth Jackson

Knock, don't enter, when the bath

is drawn like the curtains and I

slip inside. Watch my movements

spilling, swaying with the light

under the door, sure. Just don't

twist the knob, invite yourself, walk

like whips of steam to the bathtub.

It's unseemly to see your wife's armpit,

peach fuzz mustache, licked by the razor.

Your tongue happy to trace my hairless

places, after. Your eyes, happier to see

nudity teased by bubbles. Until you

note the flash of scales, click of claws.

Pike-like teeth over lips you nibble,

hors d'oeuvres, before we lie in bed.

I don't play or nip in water or splash

besotted men. What we share would

go down the drain with my tears.

Whatever is left of you after, lover,

wouldn't even clog it.

AUTHOR BIO:

Jennifer Ruth Jackson writes about reality's weirdness and the plausibility of the fantastic. Her work has appeared in Strange Horizons, Star*Line, Apex Magazine, and more. She runs a blog for disabled and neurodivergent creatives called The Handy, Uncapped Pen from an apartment she shares with her husband. Visit her on Twitter: @jenruthjackson.